The subdued hum of a darkened bar at midday. There was nothing else like it. A little sad, a little comforting. A lot fucked up.
Condensation beaded the glass he'd not touched for over an hour, fat drops trickling down to form a pool, shivering with surface tension. A nudge of his finger shattered its stasis and fat trickles rolled across the polished mahogany to threaten the pristine white envelope Jason had carried into The Well with him, and then failed to open.
Drawing lines in the moisture with his fingertips, Jason created rivers and streams, joining and dividing the water. Drops fell to shimmer in isolation, and when one fell, trembling to splash and darken the corner of the envelope, Jason rescued it from the wet bar. Holding the letter down between his knees, he worked a damp finger under the flap to tear it open, the single sheet of paper unfolded.
The lines of letters on the left don't matter, so blue eyes tracked left, thumb marking each word in turn.
Negative. Negative. Negative. Negative. Negative.
Air escaped Jason's lungs in a stream forceful enough to buffet the paper, and Jason folded it carefully, creases pinched sharp. That's that. Except for the fact that it isn't.
Blue eyes shadowed grey and vacant, Jason sat in one bar and remembered another, the years that passed between a blur. In his memory, the paper he'd been handed by the first person with whom he'd shared himself, with whom he'd shared everything, had read so very differently. Sorry, Jase, I never meant to hurt you...it was only a few times... you were gone, what the fuck did you expect me to do?
Pushing, shoving the memory aside, Jason stuffed the envelope into his duffle, the sound of the zipper loud enough to draw the attention of the bartender. Jason lifted his chin and pushed his untouched beer forward, as the guy wandered over. "Can I get a fresh draft, the Shiner, and a couple of steaks, rare, all the sides, thanks."
The lab work had required fasting, and Jason hadn't been able to eat after, but with a triple-header a day away, he knew he needed make up the calories. The beer, not so much, but...
Maybe it would be enough. Three fights, winner takes all. No holds barred, and definitely not on the books. Back alley bullshit. But maybe it would be enough. Enough to beat the stupid out of him, enough to beat the memory of lips spread in a sinful smile and knowing hands that pried him open, the breath on the nape of his neck like a promise...
Jason growled, scrubbing at his face until the scalding heat found there receded enough for him to focus. He had to fight.
Jason had to fight. It would be enough. It had to be.